Klink - Excerpts from a Secret Prophecy

Two deer in the crosswalk Who kept watch over their confusion Who saw the snow vanish before touching the ground Who kept watch when having not fed its own people the town turned ice-white Snow fell that day as it falls constantly through sleep lush drumming to nothing waves of hard silver Now it descends into the white darkness of your privacy and you awake to the boreal century that is yours Your rib-stick animals Your exhausted men Wind woodsmoke and ice spilling blind on the bird whose wings blow lightly apart On a man in a cotton jacket awake under wet squares of cardboard Who keeps watch when that wind shocks the frozen parking lot asphalt Have you come to buy bread Have you come to buy meat Scarce living in the town that now skims the lake of your privacy where in summer you loll on the slats of the jetty And the long summer dusk your feet kicking up waves A water now fully rock Ice-sheet of the north, who peers under that surface Who looks without blame at the ones by the electric doors of the store Feels the far-flung cities of dawn Or wearies of suffering You asked to live among others and here you are living A snowflake is unlike a night-flying moth The cabin by the lake is a shelter for your limbs which are constantly warm Concerning the white star that sometimes flashes above the snowy gray town I have heard it will soon have no message